


the power of three

by imdeansgirl



Series: oc works [1]
Category: Girl Meets World, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Charmed (TV) Fusion, F/M, Gift Fic, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Next Generation, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdeansgirl/pseuds/imdeansgirl
Summary: After their parents go missing, Liam, Michael, and Victor Minkus move back into their childhood home, only to find that their fathers were hiding a dark and dangerous secret.(aka: the charmed au only one person ever asked for)





	the power of three

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello! i know this is a break from my usual antics, but let me explain a little - it is my dear friend mauricio's birthday today (june 21st babey!!!), and a while ago, he pitched me an au for my ocs: a charmed au. i'm not really one to say no, so i decided to whip this up for his birthday! it stars my ocs (larkle's kids because, well, y'all know me), but there are some guest appearances (like by zay!) and is totally au both to gmw canon and to my canon lmao. this is purely for my and mauricio's enjoyment, but you don't really have to know anything about my ocs or charmed to read it. it's just a fun time!! if you want to talk to me about any of this, i'm over at [@farklelucas](http://farklelucas.tumblr.com), and i have an oc blog at [@katiesocs](https://katiesocs.tumblr.com), and if you're reading this on june 21 (or, hey, even if you're not, it can be a little late!) PLEASE go wish my boy a very happy birthday at [@ashergarcias on tumblr](https://ashergarcias.tumblr.com)!!! okay, without further ado, go forth and read. lmao.

It’s rainy in Massachusetts. No one ever tells you that in the brochures they give you - rain is frequent, even heavy, there. It’s also dark. Of course, it’s around ten PM. So dark makes sense, in this context.

It’s been a long day.

Michael is currently trotting down the streets of Salem, Massachusetts, a no-nonsense town in the middle of what might be the country’s most boring state, towards an old, stoic house at the end of the row. His umbrella is blue, unsurprising and perhaps the most stable thing about his life, and held above his head with both hands,as he feels he need not bother with the keys. The door will probably be unlocked; it usually is, even if no one in his household is awake (but they probably will be; they usually are). The pavement underneath his feet is rough and uneven, perhaps just as old as the house itself, with its rickety wooden walls and stained windows, and he nearly trips on his way up the stairs to the landing. He lands on his feet, though, and pushes open the door with ease.

Hanging up the umbrella on the wooden hanging rack, he calls, “Liam?” His voice echoes off the walls of the large house, far too big for just the three of them.

“In here,” his older brother replies. “Working on the chandelier.”

He adjusts his jacket, wet with rainwater, on his shoulders, debating whether or not to take it off before deciding to throw it on the rack alongside his umbrella. Goosebumps run up and down his arms almost immediately; the draft in the house has always been extraordinarily evident. “Sorry I’m late,” he mutters, hurrying towards the dining room.

Liam is standing next to a ladder, still in his work clothes - a white, cropped top, black leggings, and thick socks, his dance shoes thrown haphazardly on the couch. He snorts, rolling his eyes as he turns to face Michael. “What else is new?” he gripes, and Michael can’t help his frown. “I would’ve met the electrician myself, Michael, but rehearsal doesn’t even end ‘til six. I didn’t even have time to get changed.”

“I just - “ he cuts himself off, a momentary lapse of judgement as he schools his face. Judging from Liam’s look of disbelief and concern, it doesn’t really work. “I didn’t realize how long I was downtown. Did… did Lee call?”

Liam’s still frowning as he gestures to the phone. “No, the only one who called for you was Valentina. Lee probably would’ve texted you. Why were you downtown? I thought you had an interview in Derby Wharf.”

Michael sighs, short and softly, as he heads with his backpack towards the dining room. Liam follows, moreso sliding in his socks across the wooden floor than walking, as they go throughout the house. “I did, but I went downtown afterwards to pick up a gift for Lee. Our anniversary’s on Friday.”

“I thought you guys were still fighting,” Liam says, coming to a stop at the table where Michael puts his bag. As an afterthought, he adds, “And how did the interview go?”

Michael chooses his words carefully, as those are two equally loaded questions. “The interview went well,” he settles on eventually. He opens the zipper of the bag, and takes out a box from within. “I don’t have a lot of experience, which sucks, but they seemed to like me. And as for me and Lee…” He takes the lid off of the box, the glint of the metal catching in the bright light of the room. He grabs it by the handle and holds it up to their eyesight. “I’m hoping this will help.”

There’s a momentary pause, as Liam stares at the knife and it, edge-forward, looks back at him. Eventually, he says, “If I didn’t know her, I would think you were going to kill her.”

He rolls his eyes, and drops his gift for Lee back into the decorative box. “It’s a traditional Chinese dagger,” he replies.

“I thought Lee was Vietnamese?”

“She is. It doesn’t matter. Look.” He sighs as he slots the top onto the box. “The fight is kind of still happening, but I’m hoping _this_ will help to fix things.” He looks to Liam, frowning. “You think this will help to fix things?” Wisely, Liam doesn’t answer.

There’s a momentary pause as they both consider the box, then Michael’s eyes stray along the table. “Oh my God,” he says suddenly. “Don’t tell me that’s our old spirit board.”

He reaches for the large, misshapen plank of wood in front of them. It feels oddly familiar in his fingers; the rough grains are hard and slightly uncomfortable, but he remembers holding it years and years ago, gathered around it on the living room floor, cramped, all together, knobby teenage boy knees bumping into each other as they attempted to situate themselves on the rug. It’s like holding a memory. It’s strange and thrilling at the same time.

“Yeah,” Liam says, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the table. “I found it when I cleaned out the basement.”

As if on reflex, Michael slowly turns the board over. He knows the inscription by heart, and, he’s sure, so does Liam.

_To our three beautiful boys,_

_May this give you the light to find the shadows. The power of three will set you free._

_Love,_

_Your fathers_

They never did figure out what that inscription meant. Michael chuckles fondly, running his fingertips lightly over the old, worn letters. Liam just hums. “Maybe we should send it to Victor,” he mutters. “That boy’s so in the dark, he could use help finding the light.”

“Liam,” Michael chastises. Liam’s well-aware what he’s going to say; he’s heard it time and time again, after all. “Leave Victor alone. You’re always so hard on him.”

Liam scoffs as he heads towards the backroom, likely to go back to toying with the chandelier. “Victor has no purpose, no sense of the future. He’s a total mess.” He looks back to Michael, pausing in the doorway. “I know you think he’s coming around, Mikey. I just don’t want him coming around here.”

As Liam walks away, Michael sighs and turns away. If he sees something moving out of the corner of his eye, he ignores it.

\--

The chandelier is his biggest concern. If it isn’t his biggest concern (and it isn’t), he’s going to pretend it is for the sake of his sanity.

He pulls on yet another wire, even though he hasn’t a clue what it is or what it’ll do, trying to ignore Michael’s hushed whispering on the phone, followed by his worried pacing, followed by his trotting through the house, creaking across the wooden floorboards as he goes. Liam focuses on the wires. He focuses on the wires and pretends that Michael isn’t about to come over here and ruin his day. The step right before the backroom makes the noise that it always makes, and so Liam talks. That’s what he does best, after all. If he’s not talking, or dancing, then he isn’t really doing anything. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with the chandelier,” he says, contemplating. “I’ve tried time and time again. Flicked the switch, but it won’t go on.”

As per usual, Michael chooses to ignore his very valid and real concerns. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” he says, and if Liam feels the tug of nerves in his chest, he does his best not to show it. “You know, about the spare room? You’re right, we could use a third roommate.”

Perhaps if he tries tightening the bulbs again. “Well, we can rent it out,” he muses, passing Michael and moving towards the kitchen instead, “maybe at a reduced rate, get some help around the house.” He opens a drawer, poking around for a wrench to tighten the bulbs.

Unsubtle and uninspired as always, Michael says, “Victor’s good with a wrench.”

Liam pauses. He stops shifting in the drawer, and instead, looks over his shoulder at Michael with one eyebrow very purposefully raised. “Victor lives in New York,” he replies. “And he’s staying in New York.” Michael doesn’t meet his eyes, and instead looks down to the floor. “He’s _staying_ in _New York._ Right, Michael?”

After a moment, Michael says, “Not anymore.”

With a _thud,_ Liam closes the drawer. He turns around to face Michael, his back pressed against the counter, and his arms crossed. The wrench is long-forgotten. “ _What_?”

“He left New York.” Michael takes a deep breath in through the nose, and out through the mouth. “He’s moving in with us.”

“Of course he is,” Liam mutters, crossing to leave the room. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Michael has the gall to look offended as he passes him. “Well, I could hardly say no!” Liam bites his tongue, and does _not_ tell him that it would be very easy to say just that. “He’s our brother, Li, whether you like it or not. It’s his house, too; it was willed to all of us.”

Liam scoffs as he enters the living room, Michael close on his heels. “Yeah, that was a year ago, right after they disappeared. We haven’t seen or spoken to him since.”

He rounds to face Michael, who, again, looks guiltily to the floor. “ _You_ haven’t spoken to him,” he corrects gently. Liam nearly laughs.

“No,” he says. “I haven’t. But you _can’t_ have forgotten why I’m so mad at him.”

Michael frowns, in that gentle, _I-want-to-help-you-but-you’re-making-it-difficult_ way of his that Liam absolutely loathes. “Of course not,” he says. It’s supposed to be soothing. It is, a little. “But he has nowhere else to go. He lost his job, he’s in debt - “

“And this is news?” Liam cuts in. “He’s been blowing it or giving it away for long since before Dad and Pops disappeared.” There’s a brief pause, before another thought crosses his mind. “How long have you known about this, anyway?”

Michael winces. “Just a couple of days… a week. Maybe two. I made sure Valentina and Margo helped him move. That’s why she called me.”

In return, Liam raises an unimpressed and angled eyebrow. “Thanks so much for sharing,” he deadpans. The venom in his voice is palpable and toxic, judging by the look on Michael’s face. “When does he arrive?”

As if on cue, though that’s impossible, because he’s always had the worst timing, the big, wooden door flies open, letting in the sound of wind and rain to the brothers’ ears. Liam cringes almost involuntarily, and does not turn around, even when he sees the spark of joy dance in Michael’s eyes. “Surprise.” His voice is as grating as it always had been. Liam closes his eyes and Michael, at least, looks a little ashamed. “I found the hide-a-key.”

He turns around to see his younger brother, looking just as nonplussed and worn out as the last time he had seen him. He strolls forward, holding the key in one hand and his luggage in the other. His jeans are ripped and his coat is long and dark, his hair is mussed up and messy; it’s now that Liam recalls that Victor often looks so much like their father, it’s striking. Liam tries to make a face of detached neutrality, but he’s afraid he’s already blown it.

“Victor!” Michael says, as cheerfully as he can be. Michael is usually fairly cheerful, but even this seems to be too much for him. Still, he crosses around Liam to meet Victor in the foyer, his arms open wide for a hug that Victor seemingly accepts. “Welcome home.”

They hug as Liam watches, vague disdain on his face and an angry bubbling in his stomach. “It’s good to see you,” Victor says, patting his brother on the back.

“It’s good to see you too,” Michael replies, releasing him to stand beside him and look at Liam expectantly. “Isn’t it, Liam?”

Liam holds his mouth in a straight line. He knows the face he’s making; Michael says it looks like he’s trying to keep his mouth glued shut. His cheeks are settled, his lips are tucked in. If he recalls correctly, Victor used to call it his resting bitch face. “I’m speechless,” he says finally. Michael gives him a half-smile, and Victor gives him a slight nod.

Eventually, Victor clears his throat. “Sorry, I left my other bag on the step,” he says. “I’ll -”

“No,” Michael says suddenly, and they both look at him, a little surprised. “I’ll get it.” Without another word, and over Liam’s stuttered objection, he sprints down the hall of the foyer and slips out the door, leaving Liam and Victor alone.

There’s a long moment of silence, in which the two brothers stare at each other dispassionately. “So,” Liam says, eventually, because he’s nothing if not cordial. “Two bags. That’s all you brought?”

Victor raises his eyebrows. Michael used to remark on how similar the two of them are; right now, Liam can see it. Just a little. “It’s all I own,” he says. “And a bike.” There’s a pause as Victor blows out a puff of air, and then says, “Look. I know you don’t want me here -”

Liam cuts him off. He knows the spiel. “We’re not selling their house,” he spits, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Victor blinks in mild surprise, the most emotion Liam has seen from him in almost a full year. “Michael and I left our lives and came back because this was _their_ house. Gram owned this before Dad, and her mom before her; we’ve had this house for generations. Michael moved out of his apartment with Lee for this. We’re not selling.”

“ _That’s_ why you think I came back?” Victor asks. His voice is dripping with passive aggressive resentment, and Liam doesn’t really think he has the right. “Nix the history lesson, by the way; I grew up here too.”

They stare at each other, a stubborn staring match in a moment of silence. Eventually, though, Victor deflates, sighing and allowing his gaze to drop. Liam revels in the small victory. “I’m sorry you’re tired of my ‘immaturity,’ or whatever. But I know what you’re really mad about. And I swear, I never told Pierre anything.”

“Whoa.” Liam blanches, taking a small step back. He knows what he’s talking about; of course he does. But he never thought that it would just be out there, in the open. If anyone were to just _say_ something like that, though, it would be Victor. Of course he’d told Pierre. Liam is sure of it.

“I know you think I did,” Victor continues, like Liam hadn’t said anything at all. “Because how else would he have found out? But I _swear,_ I didn’t tell that cheap, Armani suit-wearing, little rat man that y - ”

The door slams open, just as Liam thinks he’s about to choke Victor with his bare hands, and Michael comes hustling inside. “I’m back,” he singsongs, as if he has no idea what he just walked in on. Liam will bet that he had his ear pressed to the door for the past few minutes, standing out in the rain just to eavesdrop. His hair is wet and plastered to his forehead, water running in rivulets down his neck. “How about I make us all a nice reunion dinner?”

He almost scoffs. “I’m not hungry,” he challenges, then turns to Victor, who looks, rightly, scorned.

“I ate on the bus,” he mutters.

With that, and one last reproachful glance, Liam turns to the stairs and heads up to his bedroom, housework and dance shoes both long forgotten in the tinge of his rage.

\--

Sometimes, Michael wonders if Victor realizes just how much it _ached_ for the three of them to be so far apart for so long. Michael didn’t stay in Massachusetts, of course; none of them did. He went to Pennsylvania, Victor went to New York, and Liam went to California. For the first time in their lives, they were totally separated. Sure, they came back to visit, occasionally, but they usually missed each other: Michael would come down for Christmas for a few days, then go and spend the rest with Lee’s family. Meanwhile, Victor would come down for the days Michael wasn’t there. And Liam was too busy on the set of his dance production, so he wouldn’t come down until summer, then he’d stay a few days, and then jet back across the country. Like three ships passing in the night.

Michael often spent the long nights in his dorm feeling like one third of a whole.

Then, after a year, their parents went missing. Michael and Liam dropped everything to come back. Victor didn’t.

It was like reopening the wound he hadn’t known had closed.

Now, though, Michael knocks gently on a door he’s passed by and resented every day for a year. For the first time, a gentle voice calls from behind it: “Come in.” He smiles, and does.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a pile of blankets. “Found these at the foot of my bed. Figured you might want ‘em.”

Victor smiles appreciatively, and scoots over a little, an invitation for Michael to come sit with him. He does, watching as Victor turns off the TV. “Always forget that this is the coldest room in the house,” Victor mumbles appreciatively, taking the blankets from his hands.

“Yeah. No idea why they were in my room.” He watches as Victor unfolds the blankets and throws them over his legs haphazardly. “It feels really nice, you know.” Victor turns to him and raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Having you home.”

He snorts. “Thanks, but I’m beginning to think I should have stayed in New York.” Michael’s shoulders deflate a little. He should have figured that Liam’s less than welcoming attitude was going to be a problem, but he didn’t know it would drive a wedge so soon. “Why didn’t you tell Liam I was coming, exactly?”

Michael grins wryly. “And have him change the locks?” he says. Victor, at least, chuckles. “Besides, I was hoping you would tell him, not me. It was kind of on you.”

Victor sighs, but nods. “You’ve got a point, Chicken Little,” he acquiesces. “It’s just… hard for me to talk to him. He’s still so angry with me, and after they disappeared, he got totally… warped.”

“That’s not his fault,” Michael reminds him, gently. “He had to give up his whole life to -”

“- Come back here and care for the house they loved so much,” Victor finishes for him. Michael pulls his mouth into a thin line, and Victor nods. “Yeah, yeah, you said so in about 300 of our texts. It’s just… I don’t need a scornful enemy right now, you know? Nor a dad. I need my brother.”

Michael bites his tongue on saying, ‘We both do.’ Instead, he just pats Victor on the leg as they both slip into amicable silence.

\--

After a few days, it’s easy to remember why Victor _hates_ being home. Liam has ignored him, mostly, but he’s also used all the hot water three mornings in a row, locked the door when Victor went out to take out the trash or get mail (even though he doesn’t have a key and can’t get back in), and moved Victor’s toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bathroom… several times. He’s tired, but his brother has a Ph.D. in passive aggression (he learned it from their father, after all), and is unlikely to stop anytime soon.

He might have been broke and unable to pay his rent, but he regrets moving back to Salem from New York.

Michael is trying to make it better, though. He still has work, but he tries to spend as much time with Victor as possible otherwise. He takes them to lunch, talks with him about his day, tells him about what all of their friends and cousins are doing. Now, even, he’s sitting with him in the living room, the spirit board in front of them on the floor. It’s a rainy day-turned-night, almost hurricane levels for Salem, and they decided to revisit their childhood in a moving moment of brotherly love. It’s more than he’s gotten from Liam, anyway. Currently, Michael is contemplating the oracle as Victor traces his fingers over the engraved words on the back.

“Liam is pretty upset that you called Pierre all of those names.” Victor startles; it’s the first thing either of them have said in almost twenty minutes. Michael is still looking at the oracle, almost like he hadn’t said anything at all, and Victor merely blinks at him. “It was a little cruel.”

Finally, as Michael looks at him, Victor raises an eyebrow. “And Pierre _wasn’t_ cruel?” He busies himself for a moment with putting the spirit board down face up, and then he scooches to turn to Michael fully. “He stopped talking to him over something _so_ damn stupid. The more I tell him Pierre sucked - which he _did_ \- the faster he’ll get over him.”

Michael sighs but nods, looking forlorn. He’s always been a hopeless romantic; Victor almost feels as bad for him as he does for Liam. “What about you and Lee?” Victor asks suddenly, hoping to change the subject. “Your anniversary is coming up, right?”

Suddenly, Michael’s look goes from forlorn to slightly more cheerful. But only slightly. It’s strange. “Yeah,” he says, putting the oracle on top of the board. He puts his hands on the oracle and, after a moment of hesitation, Victor joins him. “Four years tomorrow. We’re going out to a bistro downtown and then to the park.”

“How romantic,” Victor quips, and Michael gives him a withering look.

“It is, actually,” he gripes, rolling his eyes. “Lee loves the park. I bought her a dagger.” Victor gives him a _look_ , and Michael acquiesces; “Okay, maybe that part isn’t as romantic, but Lee loves knives."

"Yes, and as we all know, the four year anniversary is always 'knives,'" Victor replies dryly. "Paper, china, wood, then _knives._ "

Michael rolls his eyes. "We're not married." He pauses, then adds, "Well, not yet." Victor almost winces instinctively. As he does, though, the oracle moves across the board in their hands. “Dude, stop pushing the pointer.”

“I’m not!” he yelps, as it draws to a stop at the letter ‘A.’ Michael is never the kind to pick on Victor, but this is a really crappy time to start, just after the whole Liam fiasco. Even if he’s just pushing the pointer and blaming Victor, he still has _feelings_. And right now, they’re exhausted. He rips his hands away from the board and holds them in the air. “I was barely even touching it.”

“You always used to push the pointer,” Michael grumbles, suddenly getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go get us some wine. Go on without me.” As he trails away, Victor holds his tongue on asking him to skip out on the wine. It’s the only alcohol Liam will let in the house, and though Victor hates the stuff, he kind of needs the kick right now. Instead, he sighs and puts his hands down on the pointer. Right, a question. He has to ask a question.

Quietly, feeling like the little kid who used to play with the spirit board all the time, he sighs and asks, “Will Liam ever forgive me?”

He feels the oracle move, pulling him frantically along back to the ‘A,’ and then to the ‘T.’ He’s not moving it. Michael’s certainly not moving it. And unless Liam’s come up with some elaborate prank, it has to be someone - or some _thing_ \- else. “Michael. Michael, look!”

Michael hurries back out from the kitchen, raising his eyebrows and the glass of wine in each hand. From the other direction, Liam - since when is he home? Is he really just that good at avoiding Victor? - enters the room, already glowering at whatever antics he’s probably sure he’s about to be dragged into. “What?” Michael says, standing behind him.

“The spirit board,” Victor says, looking up at them. “It’s spelling something. ‘A’ and then ‘T.’”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s what happens when you push the pointer,” he grumbles.

“I’m not pushing it!” He removes his hands from the oracle and rubs his face before looking up at them again.”I’m _completely_ serious. I’m barely touching it. Come here, look.” He puts his finger back down on the pointer. _C’mon, c’mon…_ Nothing. Liam snorts and tugs on Michael’s sleeve, both of them heading back towards the kitchen. Why should he be surprised? He’s officially earned his black sheep card. They’ll never believe him. And why should they? Maybe he was just pushing it.

Just as he goes to remove his finger, the oracle drags itself to the top of the board, and then back down to the ‘T.’ He whoops in triumph, throwing his hands up. “Another ‘T!’ It moved, I swear!”

His brothers join him once again, and, of course, it stops moving. “It’s still on the ‘T,’” Liam says, and Victor wants to rip the high and mightiness right out of his vocal chords.

“ _It moved away and back again,_ ” he grits out. Liam scoffs. _Typical._

Just as he turns away, the oracle jettisons across the board. ‘I.’ Victor isn't even touching it. “Michael, you saw that, right?” he asks, turning to him. Michael, eyes wide and wine forgotten in his hands, nods. He puts the glasses down and moves to sit next to Victor on the floor. “Take this for a sec. I’m gonna write this down.”

“Liam,” Michael calls, frowning at the board but still taking the oracle, “come back here.” Just as he says it, and as Victor is scribbling down letters, the oracle moves under Michael’s hand. Michael gasps, and Victor jots it down.

Liam sighs as he re enters from the kitchen, a third glass of wine poured for himself. “Now what?”

Victor and Michael look up at him. “Attic,” Victor says. And with a _clap_ of thunder, the lights go out.

\--

All things considered, leaving the house is not an irrational decision. Michael’s seen a horror movie or two in his day, and it always ends the same: nice family moves into a haunted house, ghosts come out to hang out, the lights turn off, and somebody dies. Usually everybody dies, actually. Michael would rather not be a body count for a future made for TV movie.

(He can’t help but think of his dads, morbidly wondering if they were the first body count. He shuts the thought down as quickly as it arrives.)

“I really don’t care what you think.” He’s pulling his hoodie over his shoulders as he speaks, ignoring the indignant look Liam is giving him from the doorway. Victor, who’s been relatively quiet ever since the spirit board incident, looks white as, well, a ghost, and is quietly holding a flashlight and hovering behind Liam. “I’m leaving.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says. “We’re perfectly safe here.”

Michael has half a mind to beat him with the umbrella he’s currently fishing out of the closet. “Don’t say that! People who say that _always die first._ ”

Liam ignores this perfectly valid argument. “It’s monsooning out there,” he reasons.

“Plus, the killer on the loose.”

Both older brothers look to Victor, who’s broken his silence for the first time in the past few minutes. He frowns at them. “Do either of you pick up a newspaper? Listen to the radio? Watch a television, ever?” From the blank looks on their faces, Victor seems able to surmise that the answer is pretty much _no_ , because he, too, rolls his eyes. The resemblance to Liam - and to their father - is striking. “There’s a psycho killer out there, on the rampage, killing women and men in and around Salem. So far, no clear pattern except they usually live alone, so no one’s safe.”

Michael feels his throat tremble as he swallows. “Great,” he says. “Even more reason to leave this house with no power, signal, or unhaunted rooms.” He turns to fish his car keys out of the bowl of miscellaneous crap by the door.

“Lee’s not even home,” Liam reasons.

“I’ll wait ‘til she gets back from work.”

“You sitting in a dark car in front of Lee’s apartment building when she doesn’t even know you’re coming? Oh, that’ll be fun and safe for everyone!”

Michael spins on his heel to face his older brother. Usually, he idolizes him; right now, though, he’s lost to fear and anger in a fiery blur of hurt that’s leaving him seeing red. “Liam, I don’t know what the _hell_ is wrong with you right now, but I saw that pointer move.”

“No, what you saw is Victor pushing the pointer,” he spits back. Michael glances at Victor, only to see a momentary flash of hurt cross his face before it returns to a cool neutrality. Michael wonders, sometimes, if Liam knows how much he hurts their youngest brother. “He’s playing some kind of twisted practical joke on us. There’s _nothing_ in the attic.”

“How would you know?” He can hear himself yelling now, but he doesn’t even care. The yelling has been lodged in his chest ever since their parents went missing; this is just a hell of an excuse to let it out. “We haven’t been able to open the door the entire time we’ve been here! There could be anything, any _one_ , up there, and we would have absolutely no idea.”

There’s a pregnant pause where Liam seems to take this in. He looks to the floor, takes a deep breath, and then lets it out, and for a moment, Michael thinks he’s won. Then Liam says, “You’re being ridiculous. Now come to the basement.”

What? “Have you heard _nothing_ that I just said?” Michael yelps. “I’m leaving!” He pauses, though, and adds, “Why the basement?” He can’t help but ask, curiosity creeping up on him and his resolve already wearing down to Liam’s insistence. His brothers truly bring out the worst in him.  
“I need you to hold the flashlight while I check out the main circuit box.”

Michael points to Victor, who’s already holding the flashlight. “Why can’t Victor help you?” He turns to Victor, his eyes pleading. “Victor, you’ll help, right? You’ll go down the basement with Liam.”

Victor frowns, then shakes his head. “I’m going to the attic.”

Liam turns on him then, too, and they’re both staring at him. Michael is wide-eyed and Liam, he’s sure, is furious. “No, you’re not,” Liam says. “We already agreed that’s not happening.”

In return, Victor gives him a _look_ that tells Michael that Liam has sparked something Victor always has when Liam’s around: defiance. “I didn’t agree to anything,” he says calmly. “And I’m going to the attic. I’m not waiting for some handyman to fix it, and I’m certainly not waiting until tomorrow. The spirit board asked us to go to the attic, so I’m going.”

Suddenly, like a snapping rubber band, Liam groans in frustration and takes off towards the basement. Michael exchanges a look with Victor, who shrugs and heads towards the stairs. Leaving Michael alone in the foyer.

He can’t go after both of them. And he can’t leave them alone and at each other’s throats like this. He groans and runs after one, calling, “Liam, wait!”

\--

Not going to the attic. _Please._ Of course he’s going to the attic. If a spooky ghost tells you to go somewhere, you’re going, at the very least for the total intrigue of it all. He’s got a knife in his boot and a flashlight in his hand. He’s fine.

The attic door is the only thing standing at the short hallway at the very top level of the house. It always both scared and intrigued him when he was a kid; he was never allowed up, because it was Dad’s study, and even if he made it to the third floor, Pops would come and pick him up to bring him back downstairs to play. Still, the memory of sitting at the end of the long hallway and staring at the big, wooden door, almost calling to him, is burned into the front of his brain, and as he stands in the same position now, he feels just like a scared little kid all over again.

As he creeps towards the door, the flashlight trembling in his hand, he feels it calling to him just like it did before. The whisper of wind, the pitter patter of rain, the loud cymbalic crashes of thunder are all a part of the allure, and he feels like if he listens hard enough, he’ll hear his father swearing from the other side.

He reaches for the doorknob, and suddenly, it all stops. All he hears is silence. It’s just him, and the door.

The handle jiggles sadly, but refuses to open. He tries again, this time with his eyes closed, pushing even harder. Once more, but this time with his full body weight, his shoulder and hip pressed against it. Nothing.

Maybe the door called to him. But maybe not today.

He sighs and relents. “Okay,” he mutters, “fine. You win this round.” With that, he turns and gives a shrug to the ghost that urged him to the attic. “Sorry, pal, no ghostly escapades today.” Then, he marches towards the stairs.

Suddenly, from behind him comes a load, groaning creek. He turns to see the attic door now fully open, his flashlight catching on a dusty old chair and a large window. He freezes, blinking. “Totally not creepy,” he mutters. “Totally not creepy at all. Thanks, ghost pal.”

He walks towards the attic, the sounds of rain and thunder and wind all hitting him in full force from the thin layer of glass from the window, and gently steps inside. Besides the small desk setup, with a cozy looking chair and a lamp, the place looks like a typical attic. There are dusty chairs and old cardboard boxes stacked up, with a couple of crumpled up pieces of paper lying at their base. Just as he turns to look at the desk, something else catches his eye.

A trunk, laying by itself on the left side of the room.

Inexplicably, he feels drawn towards it, so he shuffles over slowly, his flashlight shining on it surprisingly steadily as he gets nearer. He kneels down, jeans against the dusty floor, and puts his flashlight to the side to pull it open. It opens up with a surprising ease, and even in the dark he can see its contents: a lone book, closed and covered in a thick layer of dust. He reaches in and pulls it out, blowing off the dust and coughing as it bounces back towards him. The cover must be leather, as it feels thick and smells musty. It opens with ease, and he squints a little to read the title in the darkness. “The Book of Shadows,” he murmurs, just as thunder booms overhead.

For a moment, he swears he hears his father’s voice call his name. “Victor!” But over the sound of rain, it sounds distant, and probably just too much of a memory. So, after a moment of hesitation, he flips to the next page and reads it aloud.

“Hear now the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night.” It feels like a prayer on his tongue, and he can’t help but whisper the words reverently as they leave him. “The oldest of gods are invoked here, the great work of magic is sought.” He jumps as lightning strikes past the window, seeming dangerously close to the ground.

After a moment, he clears his throat and continues. “In this night and in this hour, I’ll call upon the ancient power, bring your powers to we siblings three.” He pauses, and bites his lip. For a moment, he feels a tug in his stomach. Fear, perhaps; uncertainty, definitely. “We want the power. Give us the power.”

Nothing happens. There’s a moment where he simply considers the book, hoping maybe it’ll do something. Maybe the ghost will shut it for him. Nothing. Instead, he flips to the next page and skims a few lines. Though he absorbs some of it, none of it really seems to explain anything - like what any of it means, or why his dad had this old thing laying around in his study.

“What are you doing?”

If he didn’t jump before, he truly jumps now, nearly out of his skin as he turns to see Liam and Michael enter the room. Michael regards him curiously, and Liam, unsurprisingly, frowns as they approach him. "We were calling for you." Oh, so he did hear his name.

“Um, reading.” He pulls himself off of the floor and holds out the book in front of him. “An incantation, I think? From this, the Book of Shadows. It was in Dad’s trunk.”

“Let me see,” Liam murmurs, and Victor happily passes it off to him. At this point, he’s feeling kind of spooked.

Michael frowns suddenly, and tilts his head at Victor. “How did you get in here?” he asks.

Victor takes a deep breath and shakes himself, almost having forgotten the incident with the door. “I tried pulling on it, and it was stuck, like you said,” he recounts, “and then as soon as I walked away, the door _opened_. On its own.”

Michael shakes himself, and looks almost as if he has no idea what to believe anymore. “What did you read? An incantation? What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know, some kind of spooky spell thing.” He crosses his arms over his chest as Liam peers into the book. He recalls some of what he skimmed: “The next page said something about there being three elements of magic: timing, feeling, and phases of the moon.”

“You read this aloud?” Liam asks, flatly. “Are you kidding?”

Victor frowns. “Yeah, just before you guys came in.”

Liam shuts the book and glares. “You dragged us into this nonsense? Victor, ‘bring your powers to we siblings three,’ at midnight during a full moon? It’s a book of witchcraft.”

There’s a potent silence as Liam shoves the book at Michael, than crosses his arms over his chest as Michael skims the pages. He matches Victor in stance, but while Victor is doing it more for his own protection, Liam is purely angry. “How was I supposed to know?” he yelps, dropping his arms awkwardly to his sides. He felt weird matching Liam stance for stance.

“The name 'Book of Shadows' gave _nothing_ away?” Liam hisses.

“It was in _Dad’s office._ Dad was - is - he worked as a history professor, okay? How was I supposed to pin that man as a satanist?” At Liam’s continual glare, he adds, “Oh, yeah, maybe the book belongs to Pops! I hear that witch-veterinarians are _all the rage_ in this part of Massachusetts.”

“Maybe if you took a second to think before you opened your mouth,” Liam spits back, and his words hit Victor like he’s slinging acid at him. “But you were never very good at that, were you?”

“Look, I didn’t set out to ruin your day by making you a witch, Liam, okay?” Liam rolls his eyes as Michael, done looking, closes the book and looks between the two. “Besides, how is this different than the spirit board? Dad loved all this cheesy stuff. He had dreamcatchers and angel statues, too, if you’re afraid of those now.”

With that, Liam turns on his heel and takes off for the stairs. Michael sighs. “We better go after him,” he mutters, before putting the book back down on the trunk and pulling Victor after him.

By the time they reach the landing, Liam is already halfway down to the second floor. “Figures that everything weird started when Victor rolled back around,” Liam mutters, from his spot ahead of them.

Victor rolls his eyes as they hurry to catch up. “I didn’t go digging up the spirit board,” he reminds him.

“Well, I didn’t push the pointer around and cause all this trouble.”

Victor is about to snap that he _didn’t push the pointer_ when Michael pipes up. “Well, it doesn’t matter, because nothing happened when you read the incantation. Right, Victor?”

“Well, my head spun around and I puked pea soup,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “Then a talking cat named Salem handed me my broomstick. No, nothing happened, not to me.”

Michael looks a little hurt, but he still clears his throat and carries on. “Well, the house hasn’t changed, and nothing feels like it changed. So we’re fine.”

They all reach the bottom floor and Liam looks around. “Nope, nothing’s changed,” he surmises. “Still the same state of disrepair and damage as before. Good job not breaking things more, Victor.”

Victor glares, and takes off in the opposite direction, already planning to sneak back up to the attic and grab the book after Liam goes to sleep.

\--

The house is suspiciously quiet when Michael wakes up. Even as he brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and goes downstairs to make coffee, no one’s made a sound - not even Liam and Victor killing each other, which is what he assumed would happen after last night. He’s never seen Liam so angry, and that’s saying something.

As he reaches to put his mug away, something on the fridge catches his eye. _Went to work early,_ it says, in Liam’s messy scrawl. _Be home for dinner._ Michael just sighs before taking the note off the fridge.

As he walks through the house on his way to try to wake Victor up with a cup of tea in hand, he sees movement from the steps through the window. He glances out to see Victor sitting there, looking out on the empty street. His eyes widen, but all the same, he steps out onto the landing and sits down next to his brother. “You’re up early,” he comments. He knows Victor is a night owl; this is fairly out of the ordinary for him.

“Never slept,” Victor replies, and Michael chuckles. He’s not sure why he’s surprised. Instead of answering, he hands Victor the mug of tea, and Victor smiles at him gratefully before taking a sip. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t out riding a broomstick or anything. Just reading.”

Michael raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. “Aloud?” he wonders. Victor laughs, and Michael finds it a refreshing sound, his heart full of love for his brother in that moment.

“No. But…” He trails off and looks to Michael. “According to the Book of Shadows, two of our great ancestors were witches. Melinda Warren and Michael Warren.”

At his own name, Michael feels a slight shiver rise up his spine. Still, he smiles. “Yeah, and we have an aunt who’s manic, a cousin who’s a drunk, and a couple of parents who disappeared. What’s your point?”

Victor scoffs. “I’m serious,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, Michael believes him. “They practiced three elements of magic: they could move objects with their minds, see the future, and stop time.” Michael nods as he ticks off all three boxes along with Victor, still confused as to how this connects to them. “Before Melinda was burned at the stake, she and Michael made a blood vow that every generation of witches that came after them - their children, and their children’s children, and so on - would become more and more powerful, culminating eventually in the arrival of three siblings.” Victor gives him a meaningful look. “These siblings would be the most powerful witches that the world had ever seen, good witches.”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “And… what? You think that’s us?”

Victor smiles, slightly. “I think it could be.”

“It doesn’t say ‘brothers,’” Michael points out.

“But it also doesn’t say sisters.” Michael chews that over for a moment, and Victor sighs. “Look, I know it’s hard to believe, and I know I sound crazy - ”

“You never sound crazy,” Michael interrupts, frowning. After a pause, he says, “Imaginative, maybe. But not crazy.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“But Grams wasn’t a witch,” Michael says slowly. Though he loves his little brother, and wants to support him, this just seems… decidedly impossible. Not un-Victor-like to come up with such an idea, but still, a little unrealistic overall. “And neither were Dad and Pops, that we know. I know last night was weird and unexplainable, but… can we really just jump to us being _witches_?”

Victor gives him an unimpressed look that looks so much like their father, he feels a chilling ache in his bones. “We can, and I have.” He gets to his feet suddenly, heading towards the door. “We’re the protectors of the innocent, in case you were wondering,” he calls over his shoulder. “Known as the ‘charmed ones.’”

With that, he steps back inside, closing the door behind him and effectively leaving Michael and the idea of their witchcraft alone.

\--

“There’s been a change of plans.”

Liam hates the sound of those words.

His boss looks at him from his place on the stage. Liam has worked at this theater company for almost a year now, and never has he seen his uncle look this stressed. Though it’s not really saying much, because Liam really does most of the stressing for the both of them, he does see a bead of sweat running down his neck, which certainly indicates something worrisome. “Change of plans,” Liam repeats slowly. “With the show?”

Zay sighs. “Danny broke his foot,” he says simply. “Can’t perform.”

Liam’s heart drops in his chest. “So that means - ”

“I wanted to give you a heads up,” he says. “He’s coming in in an hour. He’s caught up to speed, but I just wanted you to be prepared before you had to work with him.”

Just as Zay finishes his sentence, the door bursts open. Suddenly, he’s here, and Liam is thrown back nearly twenty years to when they first met. “Didn’t mean to intrude,” Pierre says, sauntering in - because, really, that’s the only way it can be described is ‘sauntering.’ Pierre pretty much walks into any given place as if he owns it. It drives Liam half mad. “I just wanted to make sure I was on time.”

To his credit, Zay looks genuinely flabbergasted. “You’re early.”

Liam knows exactly what he’s going to say before he says it. He can even quote it word for word, he’s heard it so many times. “Early is on time, on time is late, and late is fired.” By the time he’s finished, Pierre’s made his way to the front of the auditorium, coming to a stop just a few feet away from Liam. He looks as frustratingly handsome and painstakingly sure of himself as he did - when did Liam leave? He was eighteen, so eight years ago? Liam suddenly can’t remember if he looks any different himself now, and he’s also not sure what emotion is winning out on his face: anger, sadness, or defeat. Pierre? Is smirking. He looks _gleeful_. “Liam,” he says cheerfully.

Liam takes a moment to compose himself before saying, “Pierre. Nice to see you.”

“You as well. I was told you were working on the project. Hope it won’t be too hard for you to work with me, or anything.”

Before Liam can even think of a rebuttal, Zay snaps from behind him, “Hey. What did I say when I called you earlier?”

Pierre raises a hand in mock-defense. “No sass or attitude coming from here,” he assures. “Just asking Li a genuine question.” The nickname, suddenly, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Pierre adjusts the pen behind his ear and gives Liam a smile. “We’re gonna have a _great_ time.”

Liam glares and suddenly feels the urge to bust open the pen and dump the ink all over his head. He turns to climb up on stage with Zay, and hears Pierre sputter. When he turns around, the pen has actually burst, dripping down his ear, neck, and onto his white t-shirt. Liam can’t help his smile. _Good. Serves him right._

\--

The bistro they chose is very busy on this particular day. Their waiter has been bustling about and avoiding their table for nearly half an hour, they were crammed into a booth at the very back of the restaurant, and the ice in their complimentary water has now melted so much that a refill would be null and void. Lee gives him an awkward half smile as she stirs her straw in her cup. “So, this is kind of rough, huh?” she asks.

“You can say that again,” he mutters. “The waiter hasn’t even come near us since we sat down.”

She winces. “Yeah,” she says, “that might be because he knows me. We kind of, um, dated.”

Michael’s stomach twists. “Oh.”

“Sorry I didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he would make such a big deal out of this, and I could tell you later, like a ‘haha, what a crazy coincidence’ thing, instead of a ‘haha, our waiter is a dickhead’ thing.”

Michael shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me everything.” Cue the awkward pause, the reminder of their fight from just a week or so ago laid out on the table. He clears his throat. “So - “

Suddenly, an interruption in the form of their waiter appears, carrying two bowls of what looks like buttered pasta. “Sorry for the wait, folks,” he says, placing the bowls down in front of them. “Two bowls of complementary pasta on the house.” The pasta looks delicious, actually; Michael wouldn’t mind digging into that. “Let me refill your waters, and I’ll be right back to take your orders.”

“Thank you,” Lee says sincerely, and he gives her a small smile before grabbing their cups and scurrying in the other direction. Lee grins at him. “Well, maybe he wasn’t being such a dickhead after all.”

Michael goes to agree, then glances down at her bowl. Something seems… off about it. There’s a bit of a bubble where there shouldn’t be one, a different texture than his. Even as she twirls her fork into the pasta, it sticks oddly. Almost like… someone spit in it. He glances behind him to see the waiter watching from across the room, and turns around to yelp, “Lee, wait!”

She does. She stops entirely, in fact. But she doesn’t move to put the fork down or to ask him what’s wrong. She just freezes. He looks over his shoulder to see the waiter - also frozen in place. Same with the couple at the table next to his, and the man next to them, and the family behind him. They’ve all stopped. Suddenly, Victor’s voice rings in his ears.

_“They practiced three elements of magic: they could move objects with their minds, see the future, and stop time.”_

Stop time.

He glances around, then reaches out to pull the fork from Lee’s hand. He drops the fork back into the pasta, then switches their bowls, putting his fork into Lee’s hand instead. “Okay,” he mutters making sure things look relatively the same. “Perfect.”

In an instant, Lee’s moving again, bringing the pasta to her mouth. “Mm,” she says, “it’s good.”

He nods, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. “Yeah. I think I’m going to go ask for a new waiter.” He points to the spit he saw earlier, mingled in with the pasta, and Lee wrinkles her nose. “It seems that he spit in my food.”

“God, gross. He’s so immature. Please do.”

He nods and takes off to the front of the store, fully intending to ask for a waiter - but also to call Victor. Something is going on, and right now, Victor holds the answers.

\--

A motorcycle is a rare sight in the middle of Salem, and Victor is fully aware of this. He just happens to think that it’s all the more reason to take it on a ride around town every now and again.

Just as he’s crossing the street, waving to a bewildered elderly couple, he feels goosebumps on the back of his neck. Just a slight tingle up his spine; none more than he’d feel after being caught by a breeze, but still putting him on high alert. Still, as he pulls to a stop at the stop sign, he feels the feeling becoming more and more powerful. Then, something takes over.

It’s almost like he’s slipped into another world, one a little more distorted than his own. He sees two kids on skateboards running out from their garage; they hold hands as they wobble on their feet, shaky and unsure, laughing and playing as they make their way across the street. He can also see a car; it’s barreling pretty quickly down the street, but not past the speed limit. He watches as the kids - two boys, he can see that now - skate out into the middle of the street, and in front of the car. One rolls over the hood, landing badly on his ankle, and the other gets pushed the other way, pushed onto his back.

The tinge fades as quickly as it came, and he shakes himself of whatever it was that came over him. However, as he moves forward past the stop sign, he sees it - the car, barreling in the opposite direction, on the opposite side of the road. And as he passes the side street, he sees the kids - oh, hell.

“Stop!” he yells, but they don’t seem to hear him. He glances at the car and at the kids, and floors it on his bike, cutting it across traffic so he can cut the kids off.

He skids to a stop in front of them, effectively stopping them from wandering out in front of the car, but losing his balance and knocking himself over in the process. His helmet hits the ground with a resounding _thud_. “Oh my god,” one of the kids says, though they sound far away, “are you okay?”

“Dude, can you walk?” says the other.

Victor has no idea how to answer. He just knows that he saw what was going to happen before it happened. And then he stopped it. That’s his last thought before he faded away.

\--

Liam’s been warring with his emotions all day, and though he’s not quite sure who’s winning, he know that he’s the only real loser here. First Pierre shows up unexpectedly, then continues to be a dick throughout rehearsal, and now Victor’s been in an accident. Worry, grief, guilt, and anger all rally in the hell pit that is his stomach, and he realizes as he pulls into the hospital that he’s been kind of a dick for the past few days. Whether or not it’ll stop him from being a dick? He doesn’t know.

He enters the emergency room in a hurry, pulling up to the front desk alongside another man just a tad taller than him. “Excuse me,” he says politely, “I’m Liam Minkus, here to pick up my brother, Victor Minkus.”

The nurse waves him off for the time being, then turns to the other man, who’s been so focused on signing his paperwork, he hadn’t even notice Liam come over. “Your name again?”

The man looks up, and as he does, he strikes Liam as incredibly familiar. “Detective Arlo Perez,” he says, and Liam’s lightbulb above his head flickers on. “Homicide.”

The nurse nods and walks off. Liam, who’s been staring for a moment or two, finally says, “ _Arlo_?”

Arlo looks up at him, and startles. “Liam Minkus,” he says, and by the end of the name, his smile lights up his face. “Why, I haven’t seen you in…”

“A near decade,” Liam reminds him, and Arlo nods, seemingly impressed. “How are you?”

He looks as if he’s surprised by the question. “Fine, good. Just… shocked that I’m running into you. I can’t believe it.”

Liam can’t help his own smile. It’s so nice to see a friendly face after such a long day. “Yeah, I’m picking up Victor. He was in an accident.”

Suddenly, Arlo frowns. “Oh, is he gonna be okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, he’ll be fine. Um, what are you - do you still live in Salem?”

Arlo shrugs and nods. “Homicide detective,” he says. “Here on… a homicide case.”

Out of all the things he could have become when they grew up, _homicide detective_ was not on the top list of Liam’s guesses for Arlo Perez. On a cop show? Maybe. But in real life… As Liam considers it, Arlo winces. “Yeah, kind of throws people when I tell them that sometimes. Sorry if I wigged you out.”

“No, not at all,” Liam says. “I was just thinking about… us from eight years ago. I didn’t think this is how it would be.”

Arlo smiles; he almost looks forlorn. “Me neither,” he assures.

Just then, the nurse returns. “Mister Minkus, your brother is being x-rayed. It’ll be about fifteen minutes. Detective, Doctor Rand is with a client, but if you want, you can wait outside of her office.” Arlo nods and they both thank her before she goes again. Arlo turns back to Liam. “Well, it was _really_ nice seeing you again, Liam.”

“You too,” Liam says, smiling, and is surprised he really means it.

Just as Arlo walks away, Liam realizes: well, that was stupid. They both have time to kill. Why not do it together? Just as he turns to say just that, he finds Arlo already turned around. “You know, Victor’s busy, Doctor Rand is busy… Can I get you a cup of coffee from the demon machine while we wait?”

Liam surprises himself with the laugh that leaves his mouth. “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” he says, and Arlo smiles. Liam’s only coherent thought is _dimples_ , but he still manages to say, “Sure.”

Arlo leads them over to the machine, and Liam says, “So, detective, huh?”

“Like it?” Arlo says, winking at him. Liam wills himself not to do something stupid, like blush. “I didn’t really have the money to attend Julliard, and the police academy…”

“Seemed like the next best thing?” Liam asks incredulously.

Arlo snorts. “Was there,” he corrects. “I didn’t have a lot of time to figure anything out, and now… here I am.” He hands Liam the first cup of finished coffee, and gears himself up to get another one. “What about you? I heard you moved to California after we graduated.”

Liam internally sighs, but externally shrugs. “Things happened,” he says. “I had to give up my California dreaming to move back here. We’re all back at Gram’s house right now.”

For a moment, as he finishes pouring the coffee, Arlo is quiet. Then, he says, “I heard about your parents. I’m sorry.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He’s heard it a million times, and still, it never gets easier. “Thank you, but don’t be,” he assures. “Especially when you don’t know what you’re sorry for. No one knows.”

Arlo contemplates that for a moment, before changing the subject entirely. “You seeing anybody?”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Why?” he asks, instead of answering.

“You still hung up on Pierre?”

“Ugh.” It’s an involuntary reaction, but Arlo seems highly amused. “Sorry. No.”

“Hm. Good. He’s a real jackass.”

Liam smiles. Even the call of _Mister Minkus, please meet your brother at the nurses’ station_ can’t take his smile away.

\--

Victor desperately wishes that Michael were here. Michael is the bridge between the divide that is the house of Liam and the house of Victor. He would send him an SOS text, but he left his cell phone at the house, and Liam is staring him right in the face as he mocks him, anyway.

“The Chosen ones, the Charmed ones - Victor, you sound like you took a little too much Adderall and had a bad trip. Again.” Liam takes a sip from his beer bottle, looking all the world like he’d rather be somewhere else. That makes two of them. “This is insane.”

Victor raises his eyebrows. “So _nothing_ weird happened to you today?” he probes. Maybe Liam just doesn’t remember. “You didn’t… move objects with your mind, or stop time?” The bartender gives them an odd look, but Victor is just a few seconds away from going absolutely feral, so he chooses to ignore it.

Liam stares at him, blankly. “Pierre showed up at work,” he says, candidly. “That’s it.” Victor sighs, and Liam tenses, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, Victor, look, I know that you think that you can… see the future, which is incredibly ironic, because - ”

“Because I have no future?” Victor interjects. “Because my cloudy outlook on life looks different than your everyday hellscape?” Liam has no answer to that, it seems, because he looks back to his bottle and rolls the neck between his fingers. “Look, even if you don’t want to believe me - just once can’t you _trust_ me?”

Victor knows the answer: no, he can’t. He never will. Liam sighs, and says, “Victor. I do not have special powers. Now, hand me a napkin.”

Without a word, or either of them moving, the napkin holder slides across the bar from Victor’s left to Liam’s right. They both watch as it does so, and then watch as one of the napkins pulls itself up and out and cleans up the ring on condensation left by Liam’s bottle. “Hm. Seems special to me,” Victor says, shrugging.

“I… can move things with my mind?” Liam squeaks. He sounds more freaked out than Victor has ever heard him, and a little part of him enjoys that, on some kind of weird power trip level.

He claps Liam on the back. “Welcome to the club,” he says cheerfully. “We should have t-shirts. Ooh, we should all have witch names, like roller derby! I wanna be the Psycho Psychic.” He watches as Liam downs the rest of his beer. “I guess Michael can freeze time.” Liam finishes it off in one last gulp and puts it on top of the napkin. “You okay there, fearless leader?”

“No!” Liam says. His voice is slightly scratchy, and Victor feels something akin to concern for a moment. “No, I’m not okay! You turned me into a _witch._ ”

Victor considers this for a moment, then says, “Actually, you were born a witch. We all were. I gave Michael the whole spiel this morning - witch ancestors, blood vow, three siblings. You should’ve been there.”

He’s losing him. Liam has his head in his hands and his eyes focused on the floor behind the bar. Victor takes pity on the poor guy - even if he’s been an asshole, he’s still his brother. Victor sighs, slaps some money on the table, and stands up, helping Liam up as well. “Alright, alright, big guy. C’mon, I’ll explain some more on the way.”

\--

He thought exchanging gifts at the park had been a romantic idea, but soon Lee is just holding a knife in the middle of the park, and they’re about to get carted away by the police (or worse). So Michael suggests they just head home. Lee agrees with vigor.

They decide to head to Lee’s, but she asks that they make a quick stop at a beautiful old building where the architecture is incredible, and Michael agrees. Seems like the perfect way to end the evening.

\--

This has been the worst night of Liam’s life by far. Full stop. First Pierre, then the accident, then - what - witchcraft? God, he didn’t sign up for this.

Now Victor’s dragged him to a _drugstore_ , of all places, to fulfil his prescription. As he talks to the clerk, Liam realizes belatedly that he has a blaring headache behind his right eye. “I need aspirin,” he mutters, then takes off for the aisle marked ‘medicine.’

Unfortunately, Victor takes that as a cue to follow behind him. “I wouldn’t mix drugs and alcohol, you know,” he says.

Liam feels his eyes roll more than he consciously rolls them. “Shut up, Victor,” he mutters, “I have a killer headache and I’m not in the mood.”

“Yeah, I can _tell_ ,” Victor says. “One little life-changing family secret and you get all snippy.” Liam glares and Victor raises his arms in surrender. “Sorry, light hearted jokes are now over. Only brooding from here on out.”

“Victor,” he says sharply, “shut _up_.”

Victor seems a little hurt, but holds his resolve. “Look, I told you what I can figure: we’re the three prophesized siblings, and we’re in danger.” Liam ignores him, continuing to scour the shelves for aspirin. “The series of drawings showed us battling a warlock - ”

“Isn’t that just another name for witch?”

“What? No, Liam, did you listen to _anything_ I said? Warlocks are bad witches. We, you and I, follow the wiccan code - ‘An it harm none, do what ye will.’ So basically, ‘Do no harm but take no shit.’ Warlocks are bad dudes, who steal powers from witches so that they can become more powerful.”

“So, a witch.”

“Oh my god. Anyway, warlock, then a bunch of other monsters. We are no longer safe now that we’ve obtained our powers.”

Liam spins around to look at Victor. “And whose fault is that!”

Victor reels, stepping back so that he hits the shelf behind him, but then he stands even taller. “We would’ve gotten our powers whether I had read the book or not,” he says. “It was only a matter of time. And if your head hurts so bad, then move it out of your mind.”

He feels his own mouth thin into an angry line as he glares at Victor. Then, out of nowhere, a bottle of aspirin flies off of the shelf and into his hand. They both look at it for a moment, before Victor grins. “Liam. You move things when you’re upset.”

“What? Shut up. I do not.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“What are you, stupid? I thought you landed on your arm, not your head. Of course I don’t believe you.”

Victor crosses his arms, and grins again, looking unbelievably smug. “Pierre.”

Five bottles of aspirin land around their feet. Liam groans and bends to pick them up and return them to the shelf. “Victor, stop.”

“Now let’s talk about our dads and see what happens!”

Liam glares up at him. “Leave them out of this.”

“You can’t stand that you don’t know what happened to them. You can’t stand that I went to New York to try and find their routes, and you can’t stand that you can’t control me because I’m not a little kid anymore. Face it, Liam, you want all your ducklings in a row, but you just can’t seem to line them up.”

Liam stands up - to yell, to glare, to do _something_ \- but just as he rises, the shelves explode, items flying off at rapid speeds. Both brothers watch as a bottle of tums rolls to their feet, and then look to each other. Victor grins. “Feel better?”

Liam can’t even help his own smile. “Lots,” he says.

“According to the book, our powers are only gonna grow.”

With one more look at each other, they both begin laughing. “Into what?” Liam wheezes, and Victor shakes his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. It feels like camaraderie; it feels like coming home.

\--

The building Lee drags him too is much different than he thought it was going to be. It’s dark, damp, and musty, and seemingly utterly abandoned. “Why are we here again?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” Lee reminds him, laughing. He nods distantly, but can’t help but note that the place is seriously creepy. Like, horror movie levels of creepy.

She pulls him through the house and onto an old, rusty elevator, seemingly made for moving crates around. “You’re gonna love this,” she assures. “Tell Liam and Victor all about it later.” She hits a button and begins the machine’s slow climb upwards.

After a moment, Michael frowns. “When did I tell you Victor came home?”

Lee smiles at him some more, and then eventually, sighs, her smile dropping from her face. “Damn it.”

Then, she pulls out her knife. The chinese dagger.

“W - Lee, what are you doing?” he splutters.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” she says, and she seems sincere, frowning, even if she holds up the knife towards him. “If it makes you feel any better, I really didn’t know you were a witch until your parents went missing. By that point, we’d been together so long, but… I knew you were too powerful to keep alive.”

The wheels turn slowly in his head until he arrives at the right destination: “You killed all those people, didn’t you?”

“It’s self preservation,” she explains, shrugging. “Take their powers before they can take yours. And now, Michael, I need your powers.”

She lunges for him with the knife, and he screams and dodges out of the way, his head ducking so that his shoulder blocks him from the blow. But the blow never comes. He looks up to see her frozen in place, her knife hovering above him, and the elevator stopped between floors. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Okay, think.”

He could kill her, take the knife and turn it around on her. But he can’t do that. Even if she’s trying to kill him now, he’s still loved her for four long years, and though there will certainly be some trauma to unpack later, he can’t kill her now.

He can escape. Okay, but how? The only way out of the elevator is the open hole in the side. So he can pull himself up through the hole and onto the floor, right? That’s his best bet. His only way out. He can do it; he’s fairly athletic and muscular, after all.

He rests his elbows on the floor and hoists himself up, shimmying out of the elevator and onto the floor. First torso, then hips, then left leg, then -

Lee grabs him by the leg, trying to drag him back into the elevator, growling with the effort it takes. She’s not stronger than he is, but she does have gravity on her side, so as long as he finds something to hold onto…

He reaches out desperately - floor, floor… plank of wood. It’s hefty, but not overly heavy, and it’ll only do some damage. He winces as the thought enters his head, but it’s his only chance. “Sorry,” he mutters, before he swings it back around and hits Lee in the face.

She’s knocked out - but only for now. He takes off running through the warehouse. He only hopes he can make it home in time.

\--

At this point, Liam has gone through the five stages of grief, and has entered a new stage: All the Feelings All at Once, leading to a mostly incomprehensible mess weighing down on his chest. It’s a disaster.

As he makes his way through the house, he hears a quiet _mrow_ , and looks up the staircase. There are two cats sitting on the steps, one black with piercing blue eyes and one tabby cat. They both stare at Liam as if in awe of him. “What’re you doing here?” he says, more to himself than anyone. “Go, shoe.” They continue to stare. He rolls his eyes and trudges over. The tabby allows himself to be picked up with ease, and as Liam carries him to the other room, his blue-eyed friend follows.

“Well, Michael’s not here,” he says to Victor, who’s standing with his cellphone in hand. “Unless he’s a cat. They must've gotten in through the window.” He nods to Victor’s cellphone. “Any messages?”

Victor shakes his head. “No, he’s probably out with Lee.”

The door bursts open. “Liam?” His voice is shaky, but it’s Michael. Liam and Victor frown at each other. “In here,” Liam calls.

Michael comes hurdling around the corner. “Quick, we need to lock all of the doors and windows,” he says. “We have time, but not much. Victor, did it say anything in the book about defeating - ”

“Warlocks?” Victor guesses. Michael stops, mid-rant, and nods. Victor and Liam both sigh, simultaneously. “Jesus Christ. Lee.”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Lee.”

As Victor makes a run for the attic, Liam and Michael run to shut all the doors and windows. The cats make indignant noises and scamper around at their feet, following them through their efforts. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. Liam could check every nook and cranny in the house and would still feel unsafe.

“Should I call the cops?” he asks Michael. He knows there’s a nervous note in his voice, and he can’t quite help the way it shakes.

“And say what? We’re witches being targeted by a warlock?” Michael frowns and shakes his head. “Besides, they’d be no match for Lee. She’s absorbed tons of witches’ powers. She could wipe them out. The book is our best hope.”

Suddenly, Victor appears on the stairs. “I found it,” he says, panting, “come on!”

The three brothers take the stairs two at a time to the attic. Liam brings them some candles and matches, and they light them around the book, following Victor’s instructions to a t: nine candles, annointed with oils and spices in a circle (including one rogue birthday candle). The three of them sit in a circle, and Michael grabs the poppet for their spell. “Okay, here goes nothing,” he mutters, pressing a rose against the poppet’s heart. He clears his throat and says: “Your love with wither and depart, from my life and my heart, leave me be, Lee, and go away forever.” He pushes the thorn into the poppet’s abdomen, and places it into the bowl.

“Good job,” Liam says absentmindedly. “Let’s hope this works.”

They watch as the bowl sits, absolutely still, for a moment. Then suddenly, smoke begins to pour from within, over the edges of the bowl and into the room, swirling around the three brothers. Liam watches as Victor grins and Michael looks on in awe, and he’s looking at the two of them when suddenly, the pot bursts into flames.

They all yelp and jump back, staring at the pot and the now fire within. After a moment, Michael whispers, “Did it work?”

Victor frowns. “Let’s hope so. Grab the candles, I’ve got the pot.” Just as they go to pick up the candles, though, Victor grunts. They turn to look at him; his eyes are unfocused and his grip is white-knuckled on the pot. Suddenly, he gasps, and looks up at them. “It didn’t work.”

“What?” They move closer and frown at him, candles in their hands. “How do you know?”

“I had a vision,” Victor pants. “I had a flash, and I saw her, Lee. She’s on her way here, right now.”

With one shared look, all three of them head for the stairs.

\--

He’s running as fast as he can behind Liam and Michael, but all he can think of is his vision: Lee, with cuts all over her face, vaulting herself over the fence, her face absolutely ravenous as she makes her way to hunt them down. It’s making him sick.

They all reach the bottom of the stairs, and Liam runs for the door, flinging it open, but it’s too late - Lee is already here, knife in hand, cuts up and down her face. “Michael,” she says, faux-cheerfully. “Looks like I finally get to meet the whole family.”

Liam backs up towards them, keeping Michael and Victor behind him protectively. Victor realizes, belatedly, that his powers are _nothing_ in a fight. Michael and Liam have all the defensive skills. And now? He’s screwed.

“Michael, Victor,” Liam says, in an even tone, “get out of here.” He jerks his head, and suddenly, Lee flies back, hitting the wall with a deafening _thud_. “Now!”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Victor grabs Michael by the hand and takes for the stairs, both of them running as fast as they can towards the attic. “Jesus, what do we do?” Michael yelps, skidding to a halt in the middle of the attic.

“Either hope Liam can take him or that we can figure out an escape route,” Victor mutters.

The hope is put entirely on the latter when Liam comes running up the stairs and suggests they start barricading the door. They do so, stacking the chairs, boxes, and dressers they can move there. They put the lock on, too, for good measure. “What do we do?” Michael asks again, this time more softly.

Liam swallows. “Do you remember the inscription on the spirit board?” he asks. They watch as the chairs, boxes, and dressers slowly unstack themselves, and the lock begins to slide out of the door. They can hear Lee's voice from the other side, but can't quite make out what she's saying.

“The power of three will set us free,” Victor murmurs suddenly. Liam nods absently, still staring at the door. “We need to do this together.”

“The power of three will set us free,” Liam repeats. He holds out his hand to Michael, and then the other to Victor. Victor, who’s never felt more grateful to have Liam as a brother than this exact moment, takes it. “The power of three will set us free. C’mon.”

The three of them begin chanting it together, their heads held high in defiance. Victor can hear the tremble in all of their voices, but even as the door disintegrates in front of them, they continue.

_The power of three will set us free. The power of three will set us free. The power of three will set us free. The power of three will set us free…_

“I am one of millions,” Lee says. She throws fire around them in a tight circle. Victor shuffles instinctively closer to his brothers, still chanting.

_The power of three will set us free. The power of three will set us free…_

“There will be more to come, more like me, and they will kill you.” She transforms the fire into debilitating winds, blowing into the brothers’ faces and almost knocking them down.

_The power of three will set us free. The power of three will set us free…_

“You will never be safe. And you will _never_ be… free!”

In a blast of light, Lee is gone. Disappeared completely, along with all the traces of her magic. Victor looks around. No sign that she escaped. No sign that she won. Just gone.

“The power of three,” Liam says.

“Who would’ve thunk,” Victor agrees.

\--

It’s been days, and no sign of Lee has turned up. No more people have been killed, either. She’s just gone. They did that.

Liam thinks that working together might be a thing they can do. He’s pleasantly surprised by the notion.

As he steps out onto the landing to grab the morning paper, he sees a black, unmarked car pull up to the curb. The door opens, and though a spike of fear lands through his heart, he’s actually excited when he sees who it is. “Detective,” Liam says. “What can I do for you today?”

Arlo looks as good as he always does - suspenders, a tie, sunglasses, and a large cup of coffee. “I was feeling pretty bad about the quality of the cup of coffee I bought you the other day,” he says, coming up the stairs towards Liam. “So I wanted to make it up to you.”

Liam can’t help his smile; he thinks Arlo’s might be contagious. “So you brought me a better one?” he asks, nodding towards the coffee cup.

Arlo scoffs. “What, and give you _my_ good cup of coffee? Don’t be absurd. I just wanted to ask you out to dinner.”

His heart jumps again, this time out of happiness. Arlo asking him out isn’t really a surprise; it was no secret that the detective had previously carried quite the torch for Liam back in high school. However, Liam was too infatuated with Pierre to have cared then. Now? Now he’d rather not turn him down; opportunity seldom knocks twice, after all. And if Arlo was the one knocking, Liam would like to answer.

“Unless you’re scared,” Arlo continues, shrugging.

Liam raises his eyebrows. “Scared? Of what?”

“Having too good a time,” Arlo says simply. “Being too charmed. Rekindling an old flame.”

“I would hardly call it an old flame.”

“ _Shh,_ let me have this one.” Liam laughs, really laughs, and Arlo grins at the sound. “How’s Friday, 8 o’clock sound?”

 _Yes_ is on the tip of his tongue, it really is. Then he thinks about the Book of Shadows in his attic and the power at his fingertips. So he hesitates.

Automatically, Arlo winces. “You hesitated.”

“Not for the reason you think,” Liam offers. “My life’s just… complicated right now. Family stuff.” They both pause for a moment, letting a gentle lull set in. “Can I call you?”

Arlo smiles. “Yeah, sure, absolutely. Just, uh, let me know.” With that, Arlo nods and heads back down the stairs towards his car.

As Liam watches him go, behind him, the door to his house opens up, and his brothers appear from inside. They’re each holding a cat - Michael has the tabby, and Victor has the black cat - as they approach. “So?” Michael asks. “What’d he say?”

“He asked me out on a date,” Liam says, raising his eyebrows.

“And what’d _you_ say?” Michael prompts.

“He said no,” Victor says, shrugging.

“I said _maybe_ ,” Liam retorts. “I’m just… not sure how it’ll fit in to our new lives, you know? Can witches date?”

Victor outright laughs, and Michael shakes his head. “Witches can date,” he assures. “And they often get the cutest guys.”

“You two suck,” he groans, covering his face with a hand. “I can’t wait until this happens to you. Everything is different now.”

Victor, who’s busy scratching the black cat underneath the chin, hums. “Well, at least our lives won’t be boring,” he reasons.

“But they’ll never be the same,” Liam points out.

“Is that so bad?” Victor prompts. “Things kind of sucked before.”

“Fair point,” Liam agrees. He turns and comes in between them, leading them both towards the house. “No, it’s not bad, but it could be a big problem.”

Michael sighs as the tabby cat nuzzles into his neck. “What are we gonna do?”

“Whatever we want,” Victor replies. “‘An it harm none, do what ye will,’ bro.”

“We’re going to be careful, we’re going to be wise, and we’re going to stick together,” Liam says, an air of finality hanging off his words as they reach the landing.

Michael and Victor exchange a glance. “Should be interesting,” Michael says, stepping into the foyer. Victor follows behind, then Liam.

For a moment, Liam looks over his shoulder at the open door. Arlo has long since driven away, and now he’s just looking onto an empty street. After a moment of consideration, and before he can think any better of it, he nods his head and closes the door without touching it. Much better.

**Author's Note:**

> WHOO okay if you read this. god bless! anyway, this is all for now, but maybe might add onto it later bc... we gotta get to the whitelighter, right??? ;) thanks to Anyone who's listening out there, hope you have an amazing day!!!


End file.
